


I, The Rhubarb

by ToodleOfDeeth



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Extended Metaphors, Fluff, I began writing this over a year ago wow, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToodleOfDeeth/pseuds/ToodleOfDeeth
Summary: He sees the rhubarb in himself. It grows at the end of the garden.





	I, The Rhubarb

He sees the rhubarb in himself. It grows at the end of the garden, just in sight of the kitchen window, so that when he wakes for tea or coffee in the morning he can monitor it. Has it grown? Has another stem broken off? Really both he and Don know they must get rid of it - it takes up a whole corner of the flowerbed.

But it’d been there since they’d moved in last year, just as large and just as thick-skinned to the cold. Quietly growing, developing roots and rubbery fibres. It’d be too bitter to eat. Too old to chew. They’d have to throw it out. It’s not healthy to keep something like this in the back of his mind, and he knows this. He’s experienced it first, second, and third hand. Although it doesn't hurt to keep it there, it’s often better to rid yourself of the unnecessary weight to ensure that you fully understand what burden less living is really like.

Both he and Donald are getting better with it, though. Whenever it gets to the point where it blocks the corner of the paving slabs one of them hacks it back with a pair of sheers to a stump. It still grows. Its roots are too deep for it not to, but the management required to keep it in shape is do-able so long as they don't let it take over the grass.

The kettle snaps off with a bell-like chime. He picks it up, pours the boiling water over the tea bag in his grey-purple mug and into the glass cafetiere. The smells mix into the air as he sets the kettle back into its holder. Then he stirs both tea and coffee alike, watching the way the light reflects off the cold morning frost. The gentle tink of the spoon resting on the side of the mug disturbs the peaceful atmosphere, as does the opening and closing, and then reopening and closing of the fridge. The tea bag is squeezed, the bin opened and shut, and the cafetiere pushed down. He pours the coffee into the black mug, leaving it milk and sugarless.

He then holds both mugs in his hands and with another wistful glance to the rhubarb, he shoulders the kitchen door open and takes the flight of creaky wooden stairs to the main bedroom. Nudging the door with his sock-clad foot, he slips in, unknownst to the sleeping body on the far side of the bed. He puts down the tea on his side, tisking when he realised he forgot to take out the spoon, and then moved to the other side of the room to place the sharper smelling of the drinks on the table near the other man. He then lets a slither of pale light stray from between the curtains and onto the bed.

Then, in a sudden yet unmistakable movement, he plants a short kiss onto the forehead of his husband, whom he married in the spring of the year before, just after the snowdrops pulled themselves from the snow. There was a rustling of sheet as he moved to the other side of the bed once again, pushing the bedroom door shut; a mindless act to keep them away from the rest of the world.

Don stirs. Stretching slightly, his toes curling beneath the sheets and his eyes blearily opening, he slowly becomes aware of himself. He turns his head to look towards the bedroom door and then follows the line of David’s dressing gown to get to his face. A sloppy smile, one only known to be on the face of the newly awoken or the drunk, pulls at his mouth as their eyes meet.

“...h‘llo” He says, just as David tucks himself back under the covers of their bed.

David sits there a moment, eyes shut and with his tea in hand. He then looks back to Don and says, “ h‘llo yourself. Sleep well?”

“Mm… yeah.” With another smaller smile, he shuts his eyes, as if keeping them open for too long will make the moment they’d created disappear; With the soft morning light shining from the window, it’s hard not to call it a moment, one so finely spun it could be compared to spider’s silk.

Breakable at the barest touch.

So slowly, like the rhubarb, Don’s hand reaches across the bed to clasp’s David’s.

**Author's Note:**

> this took way longer than expected but i hope you dudes like it anyway :p
> 
> (not beta read, apologies for any mistakes)
> 
> Main tumblr: willow-wildheart  
> Side, but more personal, tumblr: fackin-hell-mate


End file.
